Gu Ruobai frowned as he looked at Su Mingyu. “Psychological suggestion? What is that?”
“It’s like thinking of a sour plum when you’re thirsty,” Su Mingyu said. “Everyone knows plums are sour—just picturing one makes your mouth water. That’s psychological suggestion.”
Hearing that, Gu Ruobai’s expression cleared a little. “So you mean Tang Yan planted a suggestion in you, and the effect of that Liuguang Illusion Flower amplified it—so you actually felt like the throne room was going to swallow you?”
Su Mingyu nodded. “If that’s true, then all we need to do is figure out what triggered the flower’s effect. Once we know the trigger, we can avoid it.”
“But what could that trigger be?” She pressed her palm to her jaw, thinking hard.
In the twenty-first century, hypnosis could be terrifyingly subtle—a song, a birdcall, a single flower, even a number could set someone under. But this was the past; such refined techniques probably didn’t exist. So what had Tang Yan used?
Seeing the worry clouding her face, Gu Ruobai pulled her gently into his arms. “Tang Yan just wanted me to give him an answer. Don’t worry—I’ll find that mole.”
At the sight of his familiar face, Su Mingyu nuzzled closer, then nodded. “Okay. I believe you.”
“You should rest. You’ve been through a lot.” He patted her shoulder, trying to soothe her.
She exhaled and shook her head. “I’m not sleepy. Just tired. But what about Chen Xiyuan? Was he the scapegoat, or did he actually have the nerve to back Tang Yan—and even conspire with Lord Yu against you?”
She phrased it like a question, but there was no doubt in her tone. Chen Xiyuan had been too weak, and from how he behaved during the standoff with Lord Yu and Gu Ruobai, he was no challenger at all. The man wouldn’t have had the knowledge or daring to engineer such an elaborate plot; the real hand behind it must know them both very well.
Gu Ruobai had reached the same conclusion. “Chen Xiyuan is probably just a fool. If he’s out of the way, our people can move up—but it’s maddening that we were driven to this point and still don’t know who’s pulling the strings.”
Su Mingyu pressed her lips together, looked up at him, and the two of them said at the same time, “It wasn’t Lord Yu.”
Because whatever happened in court had felt rushed and careless—not the kind of thing Lord Yu, who never acted without certainty, would do.
She sighed long and low. “Being an assassin used to be hard because of all the absurd requests. Kill naturally, or kill in front of the buyer, or only on certain festival days… I used to complain about that. Compared to what we’re facing now, those were nothing.”
Gu Ruobai’s gaze dropped to her. Guilt threaded his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been caught up in this.”
Su Mingyu arched a brow, pinched his nose playfully. “What are you talking about? I’m not complaining. I just don’t understand—how could the two of us be played like this? A battle-hardened war god and a twenty-first-century operative—how did someone manage to trap us so completely?”
He knew she’d felt stifled lately and smoothed her hair. “Once this is over, I’ll take you out. A proper walk. Somewhere with fresh air.”
She shook her head like a rattle. “I have a shop—haven’t been there in ages. Qiyue and Xiamian must be frantic.”
At the mention of her shop, she started to tell the coachman to turn toward it, but Gu Ruobai stopped her. “You’re exhausted. Let’s go home, rest, and check on Xiamian in the morning.”
He gave her a long, searching look and then added, “You only worry about Xiamian—what about Zhizhu? That girl has been so thin since you disappeared.”
At the name Zhizhu, Su Mingyu’s face softened. “Oh, right. I almost forgot our little ancestor.” She laughed. “Tell someone at the Ye residence I’m back so Old Master Ye won’t worry.”
“Already did,” Gu Ruobai said with a small sigh. “When I was at the waterside residence I sent word. You need to think about yourself sometimes.”
Su Mingyu feigned irritation. “I am thinking. I’m planning to sleep the whole time we’re home—how’s that?”
They were still teasing when the carriage stopped at the gate of Prince Ruixian’s residence.
No sooner had Su Mingyu leapt down than a small, frantic figure flung herself at her and clung on. “Miss! I was so worried about you!”
Zhizhu’s voice broke on the last word. Awkward and bashful, Su Mingyu patted the girl’s back. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
This time Zhizhu didn’t scold her—she just hugged tighter, her voice trembling. “Miss… please don’t ever disappear like that again. We searched everywhere. I even went to beg Qing Feng…”
Su Mingyu felt warmth flood her chest. “You’ve done so much. Gu Ruobai told me you never cried and kept the place running. You’ve grown up—you could get married now.”
She pulled a silk scarf from her sleeve and wiped Zhizhu’s tears with the gentlest of hands. “Really—didn’t cry while I was gone, and now you burst into tears the second I return? Come on, don’t make a mess.”
“Miss… your consoling sounds a bit nicer than before,” Zhizhu said through hiccups, saying something that made Su Mingyu’s face almost blacken with mock offense.
But Zhizhu’s earnestness was touching, so Su Mingyu let it go. “Of course it does. With a crybaby like you around, I’ve had plenty of practice.”